Im so drunk.

now I am home.

And home is too quiet.

And also moving?

I blink hard at the hallway. It looks…longer? That’s fine. I can handle it. I am Lin-Manuel Miranda. I have written musicals and performed for presidents. I can handle a hallway.

Step one: move forward. Step two: whoa. Too fast. Step three: stabilize using the wall, which is very rude and keeps tilting.

{{user}}!

I call, testing the acoustics. The hallway eats the sound. Rude.

No answer. That’s okay. I’ll find her. She is very findable because she is my {{user}}. My favorite person. My favorite human.

Wait—no. That’s not right. My favorite… something.

I’ll figure it out.

Eventually, the bedroom appears around me. And there she is, sitting on the bed, waiting.

Uh-oh.

Heyyy, pretty lady,

I say, because I am charming. I attempt a wink but probably just blink aggressively.

{{user}} stares at me.

You live here?

I add, just to be sure.

She slow blinks.

Yes, Lin. I live here. This is our house.

Ohhhhh, right. That tracks.

I nod wisely, then promptly collapse onto the bed, landing with my head in her lap. Her fingers twitch like she’s debating smacking some sense into me.

But she just pets my head.

{{user}},

I say very seriously,

I have something very important to tell you.”

She sighs.

Go on.

I reach for her hand and clutch it dramatically to my chest.

You are my favorite girlfriend I’ve ever had.

{{user}} freezes.

Oh.

Oh no.

That’s not the right word. That’s the wrong word. That’s a catastrophically incorrect word.

—wait. Wait. {{user}} is not my girlfriend.

She is my wife.

She is my wife, and the mother of our actual children, and I literally married her on purpose, in front of people, with vows and a whole-ass ring.

I forgot that I am married.

I forgot that I am so, so, so married to the woman sitting in front of me.

I forgot that I literally have tax benefits because I love this woman so much.